Kiss Me
by Alias Lois
Summary: "Of all the passed out princesses in all the world, my lips had to fall onto hers. Seriously? She's bossy...She's stuck-up...She's rude...I can't stand her. Surely you jest. Am I being Punk'd?" Sleeping Beauty with a modern day twist. AU mixed with Enchanted Forest/Fairy Tale Land. [CLOIS]
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **PROLOGUE  
ONCE UPON A TIME…IN A LAND FAR, FAR AWAY…**

* * *

 **LO**

If one more person says one more syllable about spindles I am going to kill myself with one.

From my earliest memory, the subject of spindles has been beaten to death – not only the castle, but in the entire kingdom. It is said that _spindle_ was my first word. I have little doubt that this is true, for spindle is the word which my unwilling ears hear more frequently than any other.

"My Little Louisa, you must never touch a spindle," Mother would say as she tucked me into bed at night.

"I will not touch a spindle, Mother. And I have asked you to please call me Lo."

"Very well, my Little Lo. Remember what you must do if you see a spindle." Mother stated again as she was leaving my bedchamber.

"Impale myself in the eye?"

"What did you say, dear?"

"I will not touch a spindle, Mother."

Even the downstairs maid was relentless. "If you see a spindle, you…Must. Leave. It. Alone." She punctuated each word said with a feather duster as I left the castle, always with my lady-in-waiting, for I was never allowed a moment alone. Because of spindles.

Each servant was searched at the door for spindles and thread was purchased from outside the kingdom. Even peasants were forbidden to have spindles. Every prince, princess, or other noble child who came to the castle to play was told of the restrictions upon spindles – in case they have one hidden on them somewhere, or in case they mistakenly believe I was normal.

It should be said that I am quite certain I would not know a spindle if one happened to – oh, let us say – fall into my hand and prick my finger.

"Why must I avoid spindles, Daddy?" I asked Father, in one of my childhood memories.

"You simply must, my Little Lo," he replied.

"But why?" I persisted.

He sighed. "Children should be seen, not heard. Go play a game."

"A game with spindles?"

"Louisa Johanna!"

"It was said in jest, General. And please, it is Lo."

I asked several times more before he excused herself, claiming he needed to discuss strategy with his commanders in the royal guard, as he was The General in charge. As soon as he departed, I started in on my lady-in-waiting, Lady Lutessa.

"Why am I never to touch a spindle, Tess?"

Lady Lutessa looked rather put out. It was frowned upon to scold royal children. The General was a strict ruler and disciplinarian when doling out punishment, but he never resorted to beheading. Still, she had her job to consider, if not her neck.

"It is forbidden," she said.

Well, that answer would not do. I stomped my foot and whined and cried, and when that failed to produce the desired result, I said, "If you do not answer Tess, I will tell The General you slapped me."

"You evil, wicked little cretin! You will be punished for such deceit!"

"No one punishes princesses, Tess." My voice was calm. I was done with my screaming, now that I had discovered a better bargaining chip. "Especially not you."

"Why especially not me?"

"Uh, hello. Because I am me."

"If you tell such an awful lie, you will surely be damned to hell for all eternity."

"You cannot be serious."

"It was worth a shot."

"If you care so much for my soul and where it ends up, then you must keep me from such a sin by telling me what I want to know." Even as a child, I was precocious and determined.

Finally, sighing, she told me.

I had been a long-wished-for baby (this I knew, for it had been told to me almost as often as the spindle speech), and when I was born, my parents invited much of the kingdom to my christening, including several women rumored to have magical powers.

"You mean fairies?" I interrupted, knowing she would not speak the word. Lady Lutessa claimed to be highly religious, which seemed to mean that she believed in witches, who used their magic for evil, but not fairies, who used their powers for good.

"There is no such thing as fairies," Lady Lutessa said. "But yes. They were fairies. Your father welcomed them, for he hoped they would bring you magical gifts. But there was one person your father did not invite: the witch Maleficent."

"Because witches are bad and fairies are good?"

"There is no such thing as fairies. But yes. Witches are bad and fairies are good."

Lady Lutessa went on to describe, at great length and in exhausting detail, the beauty of the day, the height of the sun in the sky, and the importance of the christening service. Blah, blah, blah. I closed my eyes. But when she attempted to carry me into my bedchamber, I opened them and demanded, "What about the spindle? Hello!"

"Dammit to hellfire and brimstone! I thought you were asleep."

I continued to demand to know of the spindle, which led to a lengthy recitation of the gifts I had received from the various guests. I struggled to remain attentive, but I perked up when she began to describe the fairies' gifts.

"Flora gave the gift of beauty and the gift of grace, although surely such qualities cannot be given."

I did not see why not. People often remarked upon my beauty and gentle grace.

"Fauna gave the gift of musical talent…"

I noted, privately, that I was already quite skilled on the harpsichord.

"…and the gift of intelligence…."

It went without saying…hello, I am me.

Lady Lutessa continued. "Merryweather was about to step forward to give the gift of obedience – which would have been much welcomed in a little brat like yourself."

"Get to the spindle already! You are the worst bedtime storyteller in the world, _Lu-tess-a!_ " I emphasized her Christian name, which she detested.

"I am getting there, _Lou-is-a_!" She emphasized my Christian name, which I likewise detested.

"It is Lo!" I huffed, rolling my eyes.

"Do not roll your eyes. They will continue to roll around in your skull until you go blind."

"Where do you come up with this? Were you asleep the day at Governess School when they taught everything you need to know to raise a healthy, well-adjusted child?"

"Silence your tongue and open your ears. Just as Merryweather was ready to step forward and offer her much-desired and much-needed gift of obedience, the door to the grand banquet hall was flung open. It was the witch Maleficent! The guards tried to stop her, but she bullied her way past them."

"'I demand to see the child!' she said. "Your nurse tried to block her way. But quicker than the bat of an eyelash, the nurse was on the floor and Maleficent was standing over your bassinet."

"'Ah.' She seized you and held you up for all to see. 'The cursed baby.'"

"She cursed me! Who curses a baby! What kind of gift is that! Not even frankincense or myrrh?"

"Your mother and father tried to soothe Maleficent with tales of invitations lost, but she repeated the word 'cursed,' several times, and then she made good the curse itself."

"Wait, she cursed me because she was not invited? Look at the gifts she gives! No wonder she was voted off the island."

"Are you going to allow me to finish?"

"You mean there is more? Did she drop me on my head as well?"

"That would have been preferable. I mean the actual curse. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Sure. Why not."

"'Before her sixteenth birthday, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle and die!' she roared. And then, just like that…Poof! She was gone."

"Poof!? Just like that? And then what?" I asked, interested now that I understood I might die by touching a spindle. Why had no one told me this? Uh, hello. That is a need to know if ever there was one.

"Merryweather tried to save the situation with her gift. She said that since Maleficent's powers were so strong she could not reverse her spell, but she sought to modify it a bit."

"'The princess shall not die,' she said. But as everyone was sighing in relief, she added, 'Rather, the princess shall sleep. All citizens of the kingdom shall sleep also, protected from harm by this spell, and the kingdom shall be obscured from sight by a giant wood, unnoticed by the rest of the world and removed from maps and memory until…' People were becoming more nervous with each pronouncement. '…one day, the kingdom shall be rediscovered. The princess shall be awakened by her true love's first kiss, and the kingdom shall awake and become visible to the world again.'"

"But that is totally retarded!" I burst out. "If the entire kingdom is asleep and forgotten, who will be left to kiss me?"

Lady Lutessa stopped speaking, and then she actually scratched her head, as persons in stories are said to do when they are trying to work some great puzzle. At the end of it, she said, "Beats me. That is what Merryweather said. Does not matter, however. There is no such thing as fairies."

But even at my young age, I knew it was improbable that there was some boy who was not affected by the curse. The kingdom of Pandora was small, bounded on three sides by wilderness and on the fourth by water. The Germans, our nearest neighbors, barely knew we existed, and if Pandora disappeared from sight and maps, the Germans would forget us entirely. Other questions leaped to mind. How would we eat if we were all asleep? And wouldn't we eventually die, like old people did?

But to each successive question, Lady Lutessa merely said, "That is why you must never touch a spindle."

Eventually I tired of my questioning and yawned, prompting Tess to say, "Now go to sleep without worrying about waking up because now you know never to touch a spindle because no boy will be awake to kiss you and you will sleep forever until the world ends. Sweet Dreams."

And Tess was thus crowned worst bedtime storyteller in the world when she never told me what a spindle looked like.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

 **LO**

Tomorrow is my sixteenth birthday. I do not suppose it necessary to explain the furor this has caused in the kingdom. Each year on my birthday, guests come from around the world to celebrate and they bring gifts! Of course, my sixteenth birthday is of special importance. Rumor has it that a ship has sailed all over the world, collecting items for my pleasure. They say it has even visited the British colony on the other side of the world. I believe it is called Virgin Land.

But more than guests, more even than presents, is the actual hope that this whole spindle business will end today. _Before her sixteenth birthday_. That was what the witch Maleficent had said. So tomorrow Mother and The General will rejoice at having completed the Herculean task of keeping their stupid daughter away from a common household sewing object for sixteen years.

And then I can live the ordinary life of a normal princess who does not need to know how to sew anyway because...hello, princess.

It is not merely spindle avoidance that has been my difficulty thus far. Rather, because of this, I have been effectively shut out from the world. Other young maidens of my station have traveled to France, India, and even the wilds of Virgin Land. But I have not been permitted to make the shortest trip to the nearest kingdom, in case one of the populace there wished to attack me with a spindle – because that is so common. In the castle, the very tapestries seem to mock me with their pictures of places I have never seen because they undoubtedly have spindles. I am barely allowed outside, and when I am, it is only with Lady Lutessa as chaperone, who I at times suspect would like to attack me with a spindle herself. I am fifteen years old, and I have never had a single friend. Who would want to be friends with a girl who is guarded day and night from the sewing kit?

Likewise, a young princess my age would ordinarily have dozens of suitors requesting her hand. Her beauty would be the subject of song and story. Duels would be fought for her. She might even cause a war, if she were beautiful enough…and hello, I am me.

But though my beauty has been spoken of, raved of even, there has not been one single request for my hand. The General says it is because I am young yet, but I know that to be a lie. The reason is the curse. Any sensible prince would prefer a bride with a hooked nose over one who might fall into a coma at any moment she takes up knitting.

There is a knock at the door. Lady Lutessa. "Your Highness, the gowns are ready for viewing," she calls from outside.

The gowns. They have been prepared especially for tomorrow. It will be the grandest party ever. The guests will arrive at the palace door in carriages or at the harbor in ships. There will be a grand dinner tonight, and tomorrow a ball with an orchestra for dancing and a second orchestra for when the first tires. There will be fireworks and a midnight supper and a special bubbling wine made by monks in France, then a week of less extravagant parties to follow. It will be a festival. I will be at the center of it, of course, courted by every prince, and before it is over, I will have fallen in love—and I will be sixteen, cured of the curse.

"Your Highness?" Lady Lutessa continues to knock.

The gowns – one for tonight and several for the ball tomorrow and a dozen or so more for the coming week – must be perfect. And then, perhaps The General will speak with the tailor who designed the loveliest one and have him create fifty or so more for my wedding trip around the globe.

Truth be told, it is the trip, rather than the wedding, which appeals to me. I care not for marriage at someone else's whim. But it is my lot in life and a cross I must bear to gain the wedding trip. I am more than ready to leave Pandora, having been trapped here for almost sixteen years.

I fling the door open. "Well? Where are they?"

Lady Lutessa produces a map of the castle.

I take it from her. One has to admire her organization. I see now that Lady Lutessa has marked out the rooms which will be used to house our numerous royal guests. Other rooms are marked with a star. "What is this, Tess?"

"On the occasion of your last birthday, you told your father that, upon the occasion of this birthday, you required 'the most perfect gown in all the world,' because heaven forbid you should have only a pretty gown from an ordinary dress shop in Pandora. Your father took this request quite literally and sent out the call to tailors and seamstresses all over the world. There are small children being pulled from their cribs as we speak to make your dresses."

"Very good, Tess." I know she thinks I am silly and spoiled. Was I not gifted with intelligence? I also know this not to be the case. How can I be spoiled when I never get to do a single thing I want? I did not ask that children be pulled from their cribs to slave for me, but since they were, is it not only courteous to gaze upon their efforts and, hopefully, find a dress or two that will be acceptable? I can already picture the gown in which I shall make my grand entrance at the ball. It will be green, to bring out the green in my hazel eyes. "The map?"

"Yes, the map. Each tailor was asked to bring his best creations, all in your exact measurements. Your father believed that you might be overwhelmed, gazing upon so many gowns at once. Therefore, he decreed that they be placed in separate rooms of the castle. In this way, you may wander about, choosing as you will, since you have absolutely nothing else to do with your time that is remotely productive."

"We had best get started," I tell Lady Lutessa.

We begin to walk down the stone hallway. The first rooms are on the floor above us, and as we climb the stairs, Lady Lutessa says, "May I ask what you will do with the gowns which do not meet with your approval?"

This is a trick question. Like all of Lady Lutessa's questions, designed to prove that I am a spoiled brat. Why do I care what Lady Lutessa thinks? But I do, for much as I loathe her, she is my only companion, the closest thing I have to a friend. So I rack my brain for an acceptable answer. Give them to her? Surely not. The gowns were made to my exact measurements, and I am, after all, me. There is only one me.

"Give them to the poor?" I say. When she frowns, I think again. "Or, better yet, hold an auction and give the money collected to the poor. For food."

That should satisfy the wench!

And perhaps it does. At least, she is quiet as we enter the first room. Quiet disapproval is the best I can expect from Lady Lutessa.

Dresses line the walls, covering even the windows. In different fabrics, different shapes, but every single one of them blue!

"Was it not communicated to the tailors that my eyes are hazel – green mixed with brown – and that nobody should make a brown gown?" I ask Lady Lutessa in a whisper loud enough for the tailor to hear. I want him to. There are flecks of amber in my eyes – not blue.

He hears. "You want-a green dresses?" He has an accent of some sort.

"Not all green," I say. "But I would not have expected all blue."

"Blue, it is the fashion this year," the tailor says.

"I am a princess. I do not follow fashions – I make them."

"I am certain one blue dress would be acceptable." Lady Lutessa tries to smooth things over with this peasant while glaring at me and trying to squish my head between her pointer finger and thumb. "Louisa Johanna, this man has come all the way from Italy. His designs are the finest in the world."

"What did you call me?" I say.

"I said…oh, never mind. Will you not look at the dresses now? Please? _Lo_?"

I look. The dresses are all ugly. Or maybe not ugly but boring, with frilly, predictable ruffles, like all other ball gowns. Dull, lifeless, void of fun and personality, like everything else in my life. Still, I manage to smile so as not to call out another lecture from Lady Lutessa. "Lovely, thank you."

"You like?" He steps in my way.

"I will think about it. This is the first room I have visited."

This seems to satisfy him and I am allowed to pass to the next room. This room and indeed the two after it are little better. I find one dress, a pink one, which might be acceptable for a lesser event like Friday's picnic, some event at which I would not mind looking like the dessert, but nothing at all to wear on…hello…the Most Important Night of My Life.

"Lo?" Lady Lutessa says after the third room. "Perhaps if you gave more than a cursory glance –"

"Perhaps if they were not all so hideous, Tess!" I am devastated and hurt, and Lady Lutessa does not understand. How could she? She could go to shops and choose her own clothing, even make it if she liked. I will never be normal, but barring that, I would like to be abnormal in a simple lovely green dress without too many frills. Is that too much to ask?

"Here is a green one," Lady Lutessa says in the next room.

I glower at it. The ruffles would reach my nose. "This would suit…my grandmother."

"Could the ruffles be removed?" Lady Lutessa asks the tailor.

"Could you create a gown that is not entirely horrid?" I add.

" _Louisa_ …"

"What? It is the truth."

In the next room, I spy a lavender velvet with a heart-shaped neckline. I reach to touch the soft fabric.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Lady Lutessa asks.

I pull my hand back. I am thoroughly sick of Lady Lutessa and dresses and my life. Suddenly, the company of even Maleficent herself seems preferable to that of Lady Lutessa.

"Do you have anything better?"

"Lo, you are being terrible."

"I am being truthful, and I would thank you to remember that you are in my father's service."

"I know it. Would that it were not the case, for I am ashamed to be in your presence when you are behaving like a spoiled brat."

She says it with a smile. The tailor, too, smiles stupidly. I stare at him. "Are there any gowns which are less likely to make me want to vomit on it to improve its appearance than this one?"

The man continues to smile and nod.

"He speaks no English and has no idea what I am saying," I say. "So what do you care what I say to him?"

"I care because I am forced to listen to you. You have grown more and more insolent in recent weeks. I am ashamed of you." She nods and smiles.

I feel something like tears springing to my eyes. Lady Lutessa hates me, even though she is required to like me. Probably everyone else hates me, too, and merely pretends because of The General. But I hold the tears back. Princesses do not cry.

"Then why not leave me alone?" I ask, smiling as I was trained. "Why does no one ever leave me be for one single, solitary instant?"

"My orders –"

"Were your orders to yell at me and call me a brat?" I begin to pace back and forth like a caged animal. I am a caged animal. "Tomorrow I shall be sixteen. Peasant girls my age are married with two and three babies, and yet I am not permitted to walk down a hallway within my own castle without supervision."

"The curse –"

"You do not even believe in the curse! And yet it has come true, not the spindle part, but the death…. I am living my death, little by little, each day. And when I am sixteen and the curse ends, I shall be given over to a husband of someone else's choosing, who will tell me what to do and say and eat and wear for the rest of my life. I can only pray that it will be short, pray for the blessed independence of the grave. I will always be under someone's orders." I begin to cry, anyway, to sob. What difference does it make? "Can I not simply walk down a hallway on my own?"

Through it all, the tailor smiles and nods.

Lady Lutessa's expression softens. "I suppose it would be all right. After all, the tailors have been thoroughly searched and the spindle regulations explained to them."

"Of course they have. Heaven forbid a tailor is caught with a spindle." I sigh and roll my eyes.

Lady Lutessa turns to the man and speaks to him in French.

"Thank you!" I sob. I point to the lavender gown and say, in French, "I am sorry for my unkind words said in haste. It is beautiful! I shall take that one and that one as well." I point to a charming scarlet satin with a neckline off the shoulders, a gown I had purposely ignored before during my tantrum, but which now looks quite fetching.

"Very well." Lady Lutessa hands me the map. "Just point to what you want, and they will put it aside."

I nod and take the paper from her. I am free—at least for an hour!

Free of the encumbrance that is Lady Lutessa, I fairly skip down the stone hallways. I would swing from the chandeliers, could I reach them, but I content myself with jumping up toward them. My life is no less horrible than before, but at least there is no dour Lady Lutessa to remark upon its horribleness.

In short time, I have chosen five dresses, none blue and thankfully none brown, but none special enough for my grand entrance at my birthday ball. Although one is green, it does not match the exact shade of the green in my hazel eyes.

"It will look lovely on you," says the tailor, who is from England.

But his apprentice says, "Indeed. It may not be the same shade of green that is in your remarkable hazel eyes, but the green fabric will bring them out. And it will highlight the amber flecks beautifully."

The tailor quickly shushes him, in case the boy disgrace them both by speaking so to a princess. But I turn toward him and smile. He is my age, no more, perhaps the tailor's son. I am not quite sure, for the tailor is towheaded and the apprentice dark. And – I find it difficult not to notice – he is handsome. Quite handsome. For a commoner. Tall. Muscular. Hair like a raven. And all over the place like its nest...but it works on him. His eyes are the color of cornflowers mixed with grass.

"Do you think so?"

He looks down, blushing. "I meant no disrespect, Your Highness. But yes. It will look lovely on you, as any dress would."

I wonder what it would be like to be a common girl, who could flirt with such a handsome tailor's apprentice with such abandon. Or, better yet, to be the apprentice himself, to be a boy, so young, yet traveling far from home. And to learn a trade such as making a dress. In all my life, I have never created anything, never done anything at all other than silly paintings of flowers for my Italian art master. The General hung them in his and my mother's bedchamber, where they would be seen by no one. Is it enough to be a princess, when being a princess means nothing?

I nod and turn reluctantly to the tailor. "I shall wear it tonight for dinner. Many noblewomen will be in attendance, and if they compliment my gown, I will tell them your name. What is it?"

"Kent, just like the county in Canterbury."

"Kent." I nod and start for the door. The tailor bows, but the boy does not move. He is staring at me. I get the shiveriest sensation across my arms. Of course he thinks I am beautiful, but I like that he sees me. I wonder if this is what it will be like when I meet my prince.

More rooms and still the dress I desire has not been found. It seems a small task, certainly one the best tailors in the world should be able to accomplish. And yet they have not. I sigh. Perhaps I will wear the English tailor's dress to the ball after all. Perhaps it will bring out the green in my eyes. Perhaps the amber flecks as well. Perhaps Mother and The General will request the English tailor and his apprentice make my wedding gowns. Perhaps I shall see the handsome apprentice again...at my wedding. Perhaps.

I reach the end of the hallway. I have never been in this part of the castle before. Amazing. These rooms have barely been used, but surely a child – a normal child – would explore every room at some time. But I had not been a normal child.

I spy a staircase in the shadows. This is not one of the stairways I am accustomed to using to reach the fourth floor, and when I check Lady Lutessa's map, I see that it was not included. How odd. I am seized with a sudden urge to run up its steps, even slide down the banister. I turn back down the hall instead. Suddenly, I hear a voice:

 _Kiss me out of the bearded barley_

 _Nightly, beside the green, green grass_

 _Swing, swing, swing the spinning step_

 _You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress_

A woman's voice, singing. Entranced, I start up the staircase.

 _Kiss me down by the broken tree house_

 _Swing me, upon its hanging tire_

 _Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat_

 _We'll take the trail marked on your father's map_

At the top of the stairs, there is an open door. I stop. There is no tailor. I knew there would not be. But instead, there is an old woman sitting upon a bench. I cannot see what she is doing, for she is surrounded by dresses, so many dresses. But that is not the remarkable thing.

Each and every dress is exactly the same shade of green as in my eyes.

"Perfect!" The cry comes from me unbidden. I run into the room.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness." The old woman attempts to rise from her chair with great effort. She begins to curtsy.

"Oh, please do not! Stay!" I say. She is, after all, very old.

"Ah, but I must. You are a princess, and respect must be accorded certain positions. Those who do not take heed will pay the price."

She is almost to the floor, and I wonder how long it will take her to right herself. Still, I say, "Very well." I wish for a second—but only a second—that Lady Lutessa were here so that she might see how I follow her directions about not arguing with my elders.

I step back and study the dresses. It seems there is every style and every fabric: satins, velvets, brocades of all designs, and a lighter fabric I have never seen before, which will float behind me like a cloud of butterflies.

Finally, the woman rises. "Do you like anything?"

I had nearly forgotten she was there, so enchanted was I with the gowns.

I sigh. "Yes, I like everything! It is all perfect."

She laughs. "I am honored that you believe so. For you see, I am from Pandora. I have seen you all your life, Your Highness, and have flattered myself that I knew better than any foreigner the designs that would suit my own princess. All I had to do was open my box."

"Indeed." I try to recall if I have seen her before, perhaps in the crowds at a parade. Her eyes are unusual. They are not glazed over with a film of white, like so many very old people's are. Instead, they are lively, black and glittering like a crow's.

"Have you a special favorite?" she asks.

"This one." I start toward the lightweight dress.

"Do you mind, Your Highness, if I sit back down? I know it is not the correct way, but I am quite old, and my knees are not what they once were when I was a young woman like yourself, dancing at festivals."

"Of course." I am flooded with gratitude toward this stranger, who knows what I want, who understands me as Mother and The General and Lady Lutessa do not. I approach the dress. The old woman has settled back onto her stool and has begun some sort of needlework. There is a contraption in her hand, something that looks like a top with which children play. It is nearly covered in wool that has been dyed a deep rose.

"What is that?" I ask her.

"Oh, it is my sewing. I make my own thread and sell it for a good price. Sixpence. None the richer. Do you wish to try?"

Sewing? I step closer. The contraption is a wooden spike weighted at one end with a whorl of darker wood. A hook holds the thread in place, and when the thread is finished, it winds around the stick below the whorl, to be used for sewing. There is a quantity of unfinished wool at the top. "Oh, I should not."

"Of course not. I misspoke. It would be unfitting for a young lady such as yourself to make dresses. You were born merely to wear them. Humble souls like myself were meant to create."

I nod, approaching the dresses again.

"Only…"

"What is it?" I am touching the fabric, but I glance back at her.

"They say it is lucky. It was handed down to me by my mother and her mother before her, and all who make thread with it are entitled to one wish."

"A wish?" I know what Lady Lutessa would say on the subject. Her thoughts on wishes are much like her thoughts on magic. Superstition is the opposite of religion. Still, I say, "Have you ever wished upon it?"

"Yes." She nods. "I have indeed, when I was young. I wished for a long life."

I stare at her. Her face is like crumpled silk, and her hair the color of paper.

"How long ago was that?"

"When I was your age, fifteen. So about two hundred years ago."

I gasp, but the old woman holds my gaze.

"What would you wish for, Your Highness? I know you must have wishes, trapped as you are in this castle, longing to marry if only to get out, not daring to hope for freedom." Her voice is very nearly hypnotic. "Be not afraid. What do you wish for?"

My freedom. Or love. Or…travel. I wish to travel the world, to not be a princess trapped in a protected existence, but a normal girl.

"I think…" I say, "I will try it."

She nods and moves aside to make room for me on the bench. Her movement is less labored than before. She pats the space beside her. "Sit, Princess." She hands me the object, stick first. "This in your right hand. Then take the thread in your left, and spin it clockwise. When the thread has begun to spin, you make your wish."

I take the stick. I am distracted, thinking of my wish, my freedom, of seeing the world. As I reach for the thread, I feel a stab of pain in my finger. The hook at the end has punctured my left ring finger. When I glance down, I see a drop of crimson upon my skirt. Blood.

It is only then that I realize what the object is.

A spindle. _The princess shall prick her finger on a spindle._

I hear the old woman's laughter as I begin to sink down. Maleficent!

My last thought as I hit the ground is…son of a biscuit eating whore!


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER TWO  
THREE CENTURIES LATER...ON A EUROPEAN VACATION…**

* * *

 **CLARK**

What they don't tell you about Europe is how completely lame it is.

I should have guessed, though. It was my parents' idea. They're not exactly renowned for their coolness – we are from Smallville, Kansas, after all and the name says it all – or their subtlety. They sent me on this school tour of Europe, supposedly for my education but really to get me away from Kansas for a month and out of my brooding state in my barn loft – my Fortress of Solitude, as my dad calls it, and the name says it all – while simultaneously being able to state with all parental authority and knowledge of knowing what's best for their son that "Clark is on tour in Europe, getting something interesting to write about on college essays." Not "Clark is trying to forget and move on."

Painful admission here: I didn't totally mind because my girlfriend, Lana, dumped me like last week's garbage when some older, insanely rich guy wooed her away with promises of being "open and totally honest" in their relationship. That's a low blow and completely unfair. What teenage boy is "open and totally honest" in a relationship with a teenage girl? Lex Luthor. Billionaire. My former best friend. And now my ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend. Lex be "open and totally honest?" I can't believe she fell for that. But then again, Lana Lang isn't exactly the girl next door I thought she was. Maybe they're perfect for each other. At least being here keeps me from seeing the two of them together, and also forces me to appear like I have some dignity and pride and won't go meddling in their relationship so they break-up and I go crawling back to her, begging for another chance. And who knows? Maybe I'll meet someone.

I was picturing clubs with snobby Eurotrash nobility, riding on Vespas, lounging in French cafés and Greek taverns, and, of course, the occasional topless beach – hey, I'm a teenage guy – (although it is a well-known fact that European women aren't big on shaving their, um, pitular area—I planned to look elsewhere). I thought at least there'd be some cool scenery – gardens, landscaping, meadows, fields and pastures, some outdoor animals grazing on the grass. Some…sun. I never imagined the suckitude I was about to experience—one big bus tour to every museum that offers a group rate. In Smallville, where I'm from, we have one museum, about the founding and history of the town. Here in Europe, every Podunk town like Smallville has ten or twenty. What small town with a population less than a football stadium needs ten or twenty museums? The bus pulls up in front of a museum and lets us out. Our school tour guide, Maddie Haroldhaus – Smallville High event organizer and planner extraordinaire – has this little red-and-blue flag with a picture of a crow in a cape on it – our school mascot – which makes walking behind her the ultimate in humiliation. She walks backward to whichever great work of art the museum's famous for. The assembled flock of Smallville Crows gawk for a full two minutes. Then it's off to exit through the gift shop to spend our Euros on stuff we wouldn't pay two cents for if it was in the Walgreens back home.

It's not doing a thing to get my mind off Lex and Lana.

At least my friend Oliver is here. Guess my parents wanted someone older to keep me company and babysit me – hence his tour chaperone duties. Oliver Queen is also a billionaire who has known Lex Luthor most of his life – he and Lex went to a private prep school together and their families were friends and business partners. Oliver and Lex will never be friends or business partners – that's my favorite thing about Oliver right now. I'm glad he's pretending my mother didn't persuade him to tag along on a high school field trip of Europe just because of their political ties. I don't even know what country we're in now. One of those lame ones you don't learn much about in geography – other than the history that pertains to the United States – like Germany, or maybe something weird and only known for food, like Belgium, or something way out there, like one of the "L" ones. I don't pay much attention to tour-guide Maddie, but yesterday I heard her say the magic word: coast. We're near the beach. Finally the outdoors. Germany has a coast on the Baltic Sea. We must be in Germany. That's when I started formulating my plan.

I shake Oliver awake.

"What the…what time is it?"

"Five thirty, man."

"In the morning?"

"No, at night. It's almost time for dinner."

That gets him up. But when he sees how dark it is, he slumps back on the bed.

"It's still dark, dude."

Can't put anything over on Oliver, at least not where food or sleep are concerned.

"Okay, I lied. But I need to get out of this Tour of the Damned and have some fun in the sun outdoors. With all the dark, musty museums and storm cloud cover and incessant rain outside in every country we've been in, I don't feel right. I need some sun. That's not going to happen unless we can beat the seven o'clock meet-up time and head for the coast."

"Know what would be fun?"

"What, Oliver?" I'm hoping maybe he has some ideas, since I know my parents roped him into this tour, same as they did me.

"Sleeping."

"It's not like they're going to let us sleep in, anyway. You're a tour chaperone. Soon Maddie'll be banging on the door, telling you to get ready and help her round up the small crows. This way, you can sleep when we hit the beach."

"Beach?"

Back home in Kansas, Oliver is a serious sun god – a habit from growing up in Star City on the west coast. Now he's the color of marshmallows.

"Sure, the beach." I knew I needed to appeal to his baser instincts. "Think of it, Oliver. Topless French chicks."

"Dude, we're not in France."

"Okay, topless German chicks. Does it make a difference, man?"

"Will there be food?"

Bingo. "Sure. There's a café across the street. We'll get breakfast to fill us up and some sandwiches and snacks for later, but first we have to get out of here before Maddie ropes us into another day on this Tour of the Damned."

Finally, I manage to get him up and out of bed and into some clothes. I'd actually sort of wanted to go look at this National Horticulture Reserve and Botanic Garden we passed yesterday on the way to Museum Number Three. I could see this huge giant sequoia from the road. Of course, we didn't have time to look at it. But I knew that Oliver was way more likely to go along with me to the beach – that speaks his language. At least it's not another dark, dusty art museum, and maybe we can hit the garden on the way back.

I drag Oliver to the concierge desk to ask for directions.

"You couldn't have done that while I was getting ready?" Oliver asks.

"You'd have gone back to sleep. You know, sometimes it's like you work at being a laid back playboy with not a care in the world."

"This boy prefers to spend his summer not working at anything, but playing and getting laid."

I roll my eyes and shake my head at his declaration. We have to stand there for a while, while the concierge guy flirts with the desk clerk. If he doesn't get over here soon, Maddie might catch us.

"Hey, little help here…" I try to make out his nameplate across the counter, but my vision is bothering me and isn't as clear. "Heimlich?"

He ignores us.

"Hey! Don't want to take time from your busy schedule."

When he finally figures out that we're not leaving, he comes over.

"Which way to the beach, Heimlich?" I ask.

"It is Heinrich." He gives me that special glare hotel concierges always give you when they figure out you're American or that you don't speak the language, like he ate a bad wiener schnitzel. Wait, I think that's Austria. Whatever. Like I'm supposed to speak every language in Europe. I took Spanish in school. The farms around Kansas actually have a large migrant worker population and it came in handy. Of course, we haven't been to Spain yet. At least, I don't think we have.

"The beach?" I repeat. "La playa?"

"Le plage," Oliver tries. He tries again. "Strand."

"Ah, yes. Strand." We've pushed a magic button, and suddenly the concierge is our best friend and now speaks perfect English. "The autobus leaves at nine thirty."

"We can't wait until nine thirty, Heineken," Oliver says.

Heimlich maneuvers a shrug. "That is when it goes."

If we have to wait until nine thirty, we're going to get caught by tour-guide Maddie, and I'm going to get stuck in another dark, dank museum. My girlfriend dumped me, my summer vacation is ruined, and this guy can't even help me have one decent day in the sun so I don't die? Okay, maybe that's an overly dramatic exaggeration. But isn't it, like, his job to be helpful? "Is there another bus, maybe? Is this, like, the completely lamest country in Europe? No wonder you guys came in last place and received a participation ribbon in the wars the whole world was involved in."

Oliver nudges me. "Clark, you're gonna make him mad."

I was starting to lose my temper. "Who cares? He doesn't understand me, anyway. Everyone in this country is—"

"Ah, you are correct, Herr," Heimlich interrupts, "and I am wrong. I have just remembered there is another autobus, a different route. A different beach."

I nod and give Oliver a look like – See? Told you.

"Would you write it down for us?" Oliver asks. "Please?"

"But of course."

The concierge hands us a bus schedule with the routes and times circled. "You want to get off here and then walk to the east." He sketches a map. It looks pretty complicated, but at least the bus leaves in twenty minutes.

"Thanks," Oliver says. "Listen Heineken, is there a place to get sandwiches?"

My cell phone rings. I check the caller ID: Maddie Haroldhaus, looking for us. I grab Oliver's arm. "We've got to go."

"But I'm hungry."

"Later." I drag him away.

"Thanks," he yells to Heimlich. "See you later."

Heimlich waves and he's actually smiling. He says something that sounds like "doubt it" but is probably just some weird German phrase. I pull Oliver out the door just as I spot Maddie stepping out of the elevator.

Luckily, she's already walking backward leading her small crows and doesn't see us.

* * *

 **oXo**

* * *

"Good thing we got food first," Oliver says on the bus.

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

Actually, Oliver has mentioned that seven times, once every ten minutes that we've been on this bus ride.

"But it is a good thing. Otherwise, we'd be starving. In fact, I'm thinking about breaking out one of the sandwiches now."

Oliver bought enough sandwiches and beer (the legal drinking age here is sixteen!) for a family of four for a week. He also ate a four-egg cheese omelet with hash browns, a stack of buttermilk pancakes, and ten strips of bacon (the waitress called it the "American Breakfast"). Plus, since he got it to go, he actually just finished eating about twenty minutes ago.

"Forget food for a minute, man. Doesn't this bus ride seem a little long to you? I mean, this country isn't that big – even whole and no longer split in two. I brought my passport, but I wasn't planning on using it."

"It's long," Oliver agrees, eyeing the bag with the sandwiches.

I pick it up and hold it shut so he has to listen to me.

"And isn't it going—I don't know—sort of in the opposite direction of the way you'd think the Baltic Sea coast and beach would be?"

"The guy said it was a different beach, but maybe he lied."

"I think that guy messed us up on purpose because you kept getting his name wrong."

"You did say his country was lame and deserved to lose both world wars."

"It is lame. And they did deserve to lose. Haven't you ever seen _Schindler's List_? So…you think we're going the wrong way, too?"

"Maybe." Oliver's looking at the bag with the sandwiches. "It's hard to think straight when you're hungry."

I'm about to give him a sandwich just so I can think when the bus driver announces that we've reached Heimlich's stop.

"Finally. Time to get off."

"Does that mean I can't have a sandwich?"

"Think how good it will taste when we're sitting on the beach."

Twenty minutes later, not only have we not found the beach, we haven't even found the first street Heimlich wrote on his map.

"It says go three blocks, then turn on St. Jude," Oliver says. "But it's been more than three blocks. Dude, it's been, like, six. Maybe we should turn back. Isn't St. Jude the patron saint of lost causes?"

I'm about to agree when I see a street called St. Jude. "This must be it."

But the next street isn't where it's supposed to be, either, even when we've walked three times as far as the map says. "Maybe you're right," I say. "This is a lost cause."

When we turn back, nothing looks the way it did the first time. The first time, there were houses and stores and bicycles. Now there's nothing but trees and, well…nature everywhere I look. "What the heck just happened?" I say.

"To what?" Oliver is munching on a sandwich.

"To everything—the town, the people, society?"

Oliver wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "I didn't notice."

I see a little dirt road I hadn't seen before. I turn down it, gesturing to Oliver to follow me. "Come on."

But this isn't where we were before, either. It's like everything just disappeared into a fog. Oliver isn't noticing, since he's in a food fog of his own, created by the American Breakfast and German sandwiches. But then we run into something even he can't ignore.

It's a giant hedge. A solid wall of brambles.

"Now what?" I say.

"Go back."

"Back where? We're lost. This isn't where we were before. Besides, look." I gesture around me. "All these natural bushes and trees. Back in Kansas, if you had all this nature around, you'd definitely be near the beach at Crater Lake."

In fact, the hedge looks a lot like bramble bushes in Smallville. It has fuchsia flowers a little like the bougainvillea plant that grows there. The weird thing is that it must be three or four stories high.

"So where's the beach?" Oliver asks.

I shrug. "Not back there."

"But this road's a dead end."

"I know. But listen." I cup my hand to my ear to the bushes. "What do you hear?"

"Chewing," Oliver says.

"Well, stop chewing, dork."

Oliver finishes the last bite. "Okay."

"Now, what do you hear?"

Oliver listens real carefully. "I don't hear anything. But I don't have canine hearing like you. "

"Well, my dog ears don't hear anything either. Which means there must be nothing on the other side of that hedge—no city, no cars, no people, just nothing. The beach."

"So you're saying you want two guys to go play in the bushes together?"

"Don't be a dick."

"What? If we don't go through the bushes, we'd have to go over the hedge – and I don't know about you, but I can't fly."

"Did you really have to go there? Look, what have we got to lose?"

"How about flesh and blood? Those thorns in those bushes look sharp and prickly enough to slice even the thickest of skin like yours."

It's true. But I say, "Don't be a wuss."

"Can I have another sandwich at least?"

I grab the bag from him. "After the hedge."

Fifteen minutes later, there's nothing on any side of us except brambles.

"I bet I look like the victim in a slasher movie," Oliver says. "What's the German word for 'chain saw'?" He turns and looks my way. "Dude, you're bleeding."

"It's not that bad."

"The fact that you're bleeding _at all_ is bad, Clark. You know what that means, right?"

"The flowers sort of smell nice." I inhale.

"Right. You stay and smell the flowers and pretend there isn't something weird – that neither of us can handle – happening here. I'm going back."

I grab his wrist. "Please, Oliver. I want to go to the beach. I can't handle another day without the sun."

He pulls away. "What's the real deal? It hasn't been dark gloomy skies with black clouds and rain storms that long."

I sigh. "I hate going to all those stupid museums. Looking at all that boring art makes my mind wander, and when my mind wanders, all I can think of is Lana kissing Lex."

Oliver stops pulling. "Wow. That really hit you hard, huh?"

"Yeah." I thought I was just making stuff up to get Oliver to do what I want, but I have this sort of sick feeling in my stomach – and it's not from lack of sunlight or the reason I'm bleeding in the bushes. I'm telling the truth. My parents haven't called in two weeks – because they trust not only me, but for Oliver to babysit me and keep me out of trouble – and this trip is doing nothing to make me forget about Lana. I see her face in every painting in every museum—especially that Degas guy, who painted girls with no faces at all. I always did project whatever I wanted on her. I can't get away from the faceless girls. I can't get away from her. "Yeah. I just want to go to the beach for one day. I need to be outside in the sun. I feel weak…in more ways than one."

"Okay, dude. Only you go in front. You may be bleeding, but your skin is still stronger."

So I go up front, taking the full scratchy brunt of the brambles that I'm not used to for another twenty minutes—twenty minutes during which I don't think about Lex or Lana but only about the fact that if I lose too much blood, there'll be no one here to help because Oliver will already have bled to death and I can't get a common blood transfusion at any hospital. When we finally reach the other side, I stop.

"Wow," I say.

"What is it?" Oliver is still behind me.

"Definitely not the beach."


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 **CLARK**

When I was a kid, my family took a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. It's this place where everything's like Colonial times—horses and buggies on unpaved streets. There's stuff like blacksmith shops, too. My dad loves stuff like that. He fits right in. Like he's from another time. My friend Pete Ross – who had come along on vacation with us – and I had fun with the employees because if you ask them stuff like where's the closest Starbucks, they act like they don't know what you're talking about. But it got weird after a while. You wondered if they seriously didn't know it was the twenty-first century.

The place on the other side of the hedge is sort of like that. I mean, not just old. Pretty much everything in Europe is old and falling apart and important, but this place takes historic preservation to a whole new level.

"Do you think it's, like, a theme park – sorta like Disney World?" I say to Oliver.

"No one here."

"Maybe it's just not open yet. Or closed. Is today Sunday?"

The streets are unpaved, and even if they were, they're barely wide enough to get one of those little Smart Cars down. But the transportation here is horses, judging from how many are tied to hitching posts – sleeping. There's not a McDonald's or an Old Navy anywhere, only one building with ALEHOUSE painted on it in peeling, old-fashioned lettering. And the plants look neglected. Some are overgrown, but a lot of stuff is bare, like the grass died many years ago.

"Definitely not the beach." Oliver starts pushing through the brambles. "And not a topless German chick in sight."

The brambles have settled into the same shape they were before we went through them. I do _not_ want to go through those bushes again. Who knows what will happen.

Oliver must think the same thing because he steps back. "Maybe we should eat lunch first."

Something about this place is really freaking me out – making me feel really weird. This entire trip turned "Wall of Weird" – as my friend Chloe would say – as soon as we entered Germany. "Let's wait for a while. Who knows how long it will take to get back to civilization…and sandwiches."

Oliver thinks about it and gets this worried look on his face. "Okay. Then we should get out of here. Before whatever made _you_ bleed does to us what it did to this place." He starts pushing through the brambles again.

"Wait! Maybe we should start looking for a different way out instead of being sliced and diced again. Or at least see if anyone around here has a chain saw."

"You see any people here, dude?"

"There's horses. And they're tied up. That means there are people somewhere because they didn't tie themselves up."

"Maybe they did! Clark, look at you! You look like the chain saw in this place is wielded by Leatherface and he's chasing you all over Texas. You and I both know _that's_ not possible if _those_ were ordinary bushes! There is something majorly weird going on here."

The _weird_ thing is…I feel like I need to stay. I feel like I'm supposed to be here. I feel like I need to keep looking…for something. "We should look for them."

Oliver glances around. "If there's people here, they're probably dead. And we may be, too, if we don't get out of here. Clark –"

"Oliver –"

"Fine. If you say so. Seems as good a day to die as any."

"I do."

He shrugs but follows me. We walk down the street, which is really more of a pathway with weeds and stuff growing on both sides. I point to the alehouse. "Let's try in there."

He nods. "Beer. Good thinking. If we get drunk we won't feel a thing when the voodoo vines strangle us to death and the horses wake up and eat our corpses."

The alehouse has a porch in front of it. When I put my foot on the wood platform, it squeaks and moves up into a step under me like an escalator. I step up again, and the wood platform quivers and shakes and rises up into another step. Then another step takes shape.

"This is really weird, Clark. You think maybe the whole town died or something, and this is the Stairway to Heaven?"

"Oliver –"

"What! The steps are freaking moving! Steps aren't supposed to move. They don't even move back in Kansas – unless Zatanna is passing through Metropolis with her traveling show and wreaking havoc in her wake."

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"No. Absolutely not. I don't wanna end up like that nosy cat."

"Well I am. And cats have nine lives."

I remember when we went to Colonial Williamsburg, they told us about all the diseases people got in those days, like Yellow fever, Bubonic plague, and Scarlet fever. Pete thought the guide said "Blue-bonic" and joked that I should have lived hundreds of years ago – all the primary colored diseases were right up my alley, which I didn't find the least bit funny – I like how I dress. But now it's kind of freaky thinking about some sickness taking out the whole town. Anyway, maybe Oliver is right – not necessarily that everyone died and we're next – but maybe a lot did and the rest decided to get out of Dodge. And we should, too. But…I feel like…I haven't found what I'm looking for yet.

So I say, "That's stupid. There's no abandoned town in Europe. If there were, someone would find it and turn it into a museum. They'd widen the streets and bring people here by the busload and torture kids from America on school tours."

"Dude, you know this isn't right."

I stare at my surroundings – the haunted hedge, the sleeping stallions – and I feel it. "Of course it is," I whisper. "It's never felt so right. Everything is finally… _right_."

And to prove how right I am, I walk to the door.

Even though I know I'm doing the right thing, I still can't bring myself to go in, so I look through the window. It's easy because there's no glass in it, and I remember that a lot of places didn't have glass windows in the old days, only shutters to pull down at night or if it got cold. I can't see much. There's no light inside and nothing moving. We stand there so long that I'm almost expecting someone—possibly a ghost—to come up behind us and ask what we're doing here. So when Oliver says, "Come on!" I jump about three feet.

He laughs. "Who's afraid now, huh?"

"Shut up." I push open the door.

The room is dark. There are lanterns, but none are lit. It takes my eyes a minute to get used to it with my vision still messed up. Even so, I see there are people there, sitting on barstools, but they're…really quiet. No music, no laughter, no talking, no movement. When my eyes adjust and my pupils finally dilate, I realize why the people aren't moving at all. They're dead.

But they can't be dead. If they died long ago in some plague or massacre, their horses wouldn't still be tied outside, and they'd be reduced to skeletons.

I take a deep breath and let it out real slow, prepping myself to walk around and look at their faces. That's when it happens.

One of them snores.

"What the hell was that?" Oliver says. He's hugging the door.

"It sounded like a snore."

"A snore? Like they're sleeping? All of them?"

"I…think so." I walk over to the side of one guy. He snores, and I see his stomach moving in and out. He's alive. He's definitely alive.

I tap his shoulder. "Hey, bud."

He doesn't answer. I shake him harder and yell louder. "Hey! Buddy! Hey, man!"

Now that it's that obvious they're not zombies or anything, Oliver steps forward and starts shaking a different guy. "We're sorry to bother you, sir, but we're looking for directions."

Nothing.

There are five guys on stools and the bartender asleep on the floor. Oliver and I spend five minutes shaking, yelling, pulling, and practically dancing with them. They're definitely alive, but they're totally…asleep. Weird.

"I think we need to try another place," I tell Oliver.

There's only one person at the next shop, an old lady asleep with a bunch of falling-apart hats on stands. We shake her, but she doesn't wake.

We try three more places, and they're all the same. Everyone is in a dead sleep.

"Freaky," Oliver says when we step out of the grocer's. There was nothing in the bins, not a single shred of lettuce. The grocer was napping on the floor. "Dude, can we get out of here now? This place is just…wrong."

I sigh. "But it feels so...right."

When I turn the corner, I stop.

"Whoa!"

It's a castle. Not a modern-looking one like Buckingham Palace, with electricity and toilets (when we visited it, the plumber was there—his truck said THE DIPLOMAT OF DRAIN AND SEWER CLEANING—and Oliver and I had fun joking about what Charles had done to stop up the drains), but a real castle – the kind that comes in a play set with a bunch of plastic knights and horses. It could even have a dungeon. That would be freaking awesome.

"Check it out." I start toward it.

"Hey, wrong way. That is _so_ wrong. Do not walk toward the creepy castle, Clark. Let's turn around. I want to go back."

"Suit yourself." I walk faster. "But I have the sandwiches."

"Hey!" Oliver starts running after me, but he's got on his Adidas soccer slides. I have on my Timberlands, so I can outrun him through the woods.

The castle is farther than I thought because it's bigger than I thought. It's big enough to put a whole city in. I finally reach it about ten minutes later. There's a moat around it full of brown, sludgy water.

"Oops. Too bad. They're closed. Let's go. Maybe we can try Euro Disney." Oliver yells from way back.

"It's Disneyland Paris, dork. And we already went to France. I think." I walk around the perimeter until I see where the drawbridge is. It's open, and there's a castle entrance at the end of it. "See? They're open." I start across.

"Are you sure you should do that? The queen might yell 'off with his head!'"

"Does this look like Wonderland to you?"

"I don't know what _land_ this is! But I don't _wonder_ if we should climb back out of the rabbit hole – I _know_ we need to right _now_! We're not supposed to be here!"

" _I'm_ supposed to be here!" I fill my lungs with air and exhale in frustration. "I'm supposed to be here. I just… _know_ I am." I nudge his shoulder with mine. "Come on, Oliver. What are we going to do? Go crawling back to Maddie and beg forgiveness for bailing on the small crows? _This_ is the first interesting thing we've seen in the past three weeks. The past three weeks has lead us here – lead me here. _I'm supposed to be here_."

At the door, I see two guards. Surprise—they're sleeping. I grasp the handle and pull on it. It opens with a loud squeal. I step inside.

We're in this huge room with three-story ceilings.

"It's like the ballroom in _Shrek 2_ ," Oliver says. "Great. Guess that means there's ogres."

I roll my eyes and hand him a sandwich. It lights up his eyes and lightens the load, and we've still got six or seven more. To be safe, I hold on to the beer.

"Hey, look." I point at a suit of armor standing in a corner. "Let's try it on. We could be a knight in shining armor."

"Dude, that's all you. This is your story. I wanna click my heels three times and go back to Kansas."

I slowly, gingerly lift the bill of the knight's face mask, just in case there's a body inside.

It's empty.

I breathe out. "Maybe this castle won't be as freaky as the rest of the town. It feels different in here. It feels _right_." _It feels real. I'm supposed to be here._

All the castles and towers we've been to, you're either not allowed to look around inside at all, or if you are, you just get to stand behind velvet ropes and see stuff in climate-controlled boxes. _This place is real._ I start down a hallway that goes out to the side. I look in the first room. "Hey."

"What is it? The Highway to Hell?"

"Funny."

"The kitchen?"

"Better."

It's an actual throne room like in the movies, and there are people in it – peasants perhaps – waiting to see the king or queen. They're not here, though.

"They're dead asleep like everyone else in this town," Oliver says.

"But look."

Two guards sleep off to one side. Each has a pillow in his lap. On each pillow is a crown encrusted with champagne diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. It's just like the stuff we saw in the Tower of London – only we won't get arrested and deported and banned from the country if we touch it.

"I'm trying one on," I say.

"Just 'cause the primary colored crown called to you? What if they wake up and hang you from the gallows or draw and quarter you?"

"We've practically stomped on these people and they haven't woken up yet."

Still, when I take the crown off its velvet pillow, I almost expect an alarm to go off or something. None does, and I place the crown on my head. A shiver passes through my body and my head starts to spin. "How…um…" I shake my head trying to clear it. "How do I look?"

Oliver laughs. "You know you look ridiculous in that, right. I could hook you up with a good jeweler…maybe try some emeralds…"

"You're just jealous. Try the other."

"It's a girl's crown." Still, he puts it on. After a while, Oliver says, "We should totally take them."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Can you not make it through the day without stealing from the rich?"

We put the crowns back and go into more rooms. On the third floor, there's a bunch of rooms with nothing in them but dresses.

"Where's the naked chick that owns all the dresses?" Oliver says.

"Maybe she's sleeping, too."

When we reach maybe the tenth room of dresses, Oliver says, "Seriously? All the naked girls we've seen in museums on this tour and we can't see a real one?"

I'm about to tell him to shut up when I notice this weird little staircase going off to the side. I saw a turret on the castle when we were outside. I wonder if this goes up to it.

"Let's go there first," I say.

Before Oliver can protest, I start upstairs. I didn't think the staircase was very tall, but it curves around and goes higher. Then it curves again and again.

When we finally reach the top, the door is closed. I open it and find a room with nothing but…a girl.

The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. More beautiful than any of my girlfriends. More beautiful than Kyla. More beautiful than Alicia. Even more beautiful than Lana.

She's…perfect.

And asleep on the floor.

And fully clothed.

Oliver finally makes it up the staircase and reaches the door behind me. "Seriously, dude! After all that and she's not even topless?"


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

 **CLARK**

I stare at her. I've never seen a human being who looks like her – and I'm from Kansas – where All-American Harvest Festival Miss Sweet Corn Pageant contestants go to spawn. But this girl isn't just beautiful. She's…perfect…in a way that's unreal – like an Egyptian goddess or Disney Princess Barbie.

What I'm saying is, this girl is…

"Dude, she's freaking hot," Oliver finally says.

Yeah. That.

She's lying on the floor with these silky dark chocolate colored curls all around her, like some magical creature snuck in while she was sleeping and arranged them that way – maybe a Keebler Elf or an Oompa Loompa. Her body – I can tell even in her long flowy dress – is totally…perfect. She's taller than almost everyone else here, and thin…in all the right places…and curvy in others…with these great pair of…

"Did you look at her legs?" Oliver interrupts my thoughts again.

Those too. They seem to go on for miles…and would wrap perfectly around my waist. I stare at the top of her dress – which she's really filling out, let me tell you – with these great…am I drooling? 'Cause my mouth is hanging open. I feel this incredible urge to touch her, but I know it's creepy and wrong and probably criminal because she's comatose.

But the weird thing is…it's actually not her body I notice the most. It's her face.

Her skin is the color of milk with just the tiniest bit of strawberry Nesquik mixed in her cheeks. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell they're huge, with long dark eyelashes that curve upward.

And her mouth. Her lips are full and plump and crimson red…and definitely don't look like lips that haven't seen cherry Chapstick in hundreds of years.

For some reason, my brain starts cataloguing everything about her and compares her to Lana. Not that she looks like Lana, because she doesn't. Lana's pretty in a normal, human way. But, Lana has nothing on this girl. Compared to this girl…Lana's short, flat-chested chopped liver with a strange snaggle tooth.

And somehow, just looking at her, I know she isn't anything at all like Lana. She wouldn't dump her boyfriend for keeping secrets or try to guilt him or trick him into telling her. She would wait. Somehow…I know she would. _She would wait for me._

"You're staring like an idiot." Oliver says.

I know I am.

"Let me guess…love at first sight?" he jokes.

I think it is.

Weird. And stupid. I'm an idiot.

"She's totally passed out. You could…" Oliver looks at the door. "… _do anything_."

"That's sick. Don't be a pervert."

"You know you were thinking about it."

"No, I wasn't. That would be creepy and wrong and probably criminal." Which is what I was thinking…when I thought about touching her.

"Right and wrong's getting kind of fuzzy for me here in the Land of Make Believe. Was it wrong to ditch the school museum Tour of the Damned? Was it wrong to lie to evil event organizer Maddie? Was it wrong to sneak into this girl's time-out room? I mean seriously – there's no furniture and she's on the freaking floor. She's obviously being pun-ish-ed."

I sigh and roll my eyes. I keep looking at the girl. I can't stop looking at her.

"Come on. I dare you to touch her."

"Nu-uh."

"Come on, dude. I double dare you."

"Nope. That's a hard pass."

"I triple dog dare you."

"Man, that isn't fair – you skipped one!"

"Stop being a wuss and _just do it_. You know you want to."

"Okay." I _do_ want to. I lean toward her, wishing she'd open her eyes.

I reach down and touch one of her curls. Soft. So soft. And silky. I comb my fingers through it to make it last. She stirs in her sleep, and I imagine she's enjoying my touch – that it's waking her.

"Not her hair, dork. She can't even feel her hair. Touch something else. Give her something she can feel. To let her know your love is real." He's trying not to laugh. Jackass.

I roll my eyes. "One...you're not funny. Two…did you just quote _Sparkle_?"

"It's a highly underrated musical." Oliver shrugs.

"She's dead asleep just like everyone else."

"So why risk being thrown in a rat-infested dungeon for her hair – even a lion's mane like that? Why not touch an important part? Like a Joan Jett part."

"Really man?"

"You know _where_."

"No wonder you have a bad reputation." It's not because Oliver says to. It's because I _do_ want to touch her there. I move my hand back up the length of her hair to her…face. Hey, I'm not a pervert. Plus I can't stop looking at it.

It feels like—man, I just lost my man card—flower petals. I move my finger across her cheek, to her mouth, tracing her lips. They're parted slightly, and suddenly, I can't keep from admitting it – I do want to touch her _there_. But not with my fingers…with my lips. I want to kiss her. I totally want to molest her with my mouth. Crazy, because five minutes ago I was completely thinking I wasn't a creep who would commit some sort of assault, but I really want to risk going to jail for kissing this comatose chick. I lean closer.

"Not her cheek! Are you for real?" Oliver leans down. "Get out of the way. I got this."

"No!" I block him. Like a linebacker. I stand. "Look, I want to kiss her okay – but not in front of an audience. Why don't you go downstairs and…uh…steal those crowns? This sleeping beauty and I need some time alone."

"Dude, you _cannot_ be serious."

"Wanna bet?" I can put the stolen crown jewels back later. "Just give me ten minutes."

"I'll give you five. I'm not letting you make out with her when she can't even move her tongue. It's like kissing a mannequin." He starts toward the door and then turns back. "Hey, you at least gonna cop a feel?"

I sigh in frustration. "Of course not. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"One with home field advantage. Don't let the team down. The male gender is counting on you to hit a double and slide into second."

"Get out before I hurt you."

He leaves and I'm alone in the room except for the girl. I touch her silky hair again, and her pink cheek – now that I can do it without Oliver making me feel pervy. She sighs softly in her sleep. She's so beautiful – I wish she'd wake up so I could see her eyes, her smile.

Maybe I could wake her up – like in that story about the chick with mining midgets.

It was my cousin's favorite fairy tale, so of course I knew the story. It's about a princess whose step-sisters lock her in an attic because she steals her step-mother's dress and eats all her apples. The midgets she hangs out with think she's dead so they put glass shoes on her and put her body high up in a tower in a coffin made from a pumpkin. But then the prince slays the dragon who's also a witch and climbs up her hair to the tower and discovers she's choking on an apple. He does a finger sweep, removes the apple, performs mouth-to-mouth, she's resuscitated…and they live happily ever after.

Piece of cake. Or piece of apple. I'd feel less like a sicko if I think I'm trying to save her life.

I stick my fingers in her mouth to feel for the apple. Nothing. Huh. Okay…onto the next step. I raise her up toward me. Her body is warm, and her dress is made of this soft flowing material, and when I pull her close, I can feel her heartbeat. I wish I could see her eyes. Or knew her name.

It's kind of a low blow to kiss a girl if you don't know her name.

"This is low," I whisper to myself.

She sighs in her sleep and sort of…smirks? Is she smirking at me?

"Now that's low." Her smirk expands into a grin. She thinks this is funny. Really?

"So low." She sighs again and I swear it sounds like an answer. I pull her toward me, one hand tangled in her hair, supporting her head. I bring my face close to hers, and it's like I can see her whole life – being in this castle, isolated, wishing for something more. I don't know how I know it…I just do.

My lips are on hers. Her sigh turns into a slight gasp, so I slip my tongue past her lips and deepen the kiss. I hold her closer, feeling her hair, her body, her mouth – and then her hands in my hair.

What the—?

I don't want to stop kissing her – especially since she's kissing me back – even if it's in her sleep. Still, I should pull away from her to allow her to breathe. Before I can…she bites my lower lip.

"Dammit. Really low." I open my eyes to glare at her and look straight into hazel ones.

"Really what?" she sighs. Then the hazel eyes widen.

And that's when she screams.


	6. Chapter 6

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

 **CLARK**

Holy crap! She's awake!

She opens her mouth to scream again.

"Don't scream." I put my hand over her lips – like a kidnapper. Like that's going to make her feel safe. "I'm not going to hurt you. Please don't scream."

Not that it would matter if she did. I mean, there's no one awake to hear her.

She pushes my hand away. Then she punches me in the arm. I flinch so she doesn't break her hand.

"Explain yourself boy! Who in hellfire and brimstone are you!? And was that your _tongue_ in my mouth!?"

"I'm Clark. You were passed out. I was giving you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I was… performing a mouth sweep for a piece of apple…with my tongue." I lie because I don't want her to think I was molesting her or something. Which I kinda totally was.

"Mouth to…what? What are you saying? What is that?"

Is this chick for real? She doesn't know what mouth-to-mouth resuscitation is? Beautiful, but dumb. Pity. She probably misses the obvious right in front of her face. Like she can't tell the difference when someone disguises themselves with a fake nose and mustache. Or a pair of glasses.

"Clark? You look familiar…with eyes like cornflowers mixed with grass. You were one of the dressmakers? The English apprentice. From the county in Canterbury. Kent…right?"

"How'd you know my last name?"

"What is that you are wearing?"

I look down. I have on a blue Hanes T-shirt and jeans. The shirt's all torn up from going through the bushes. At least I wore jeans instead of my swim trunks since we were heading to the beach. "It's a T-shirt."

She looks confused at the word T-shirt and squints at it. "Is that in fashion in England?"

"The United States. America. Yo soy Americano."

"Where is that?"

"Other side of the ocean? West of here? Like really west?" Maybe she hit her head.

Her eyes light up with recognition. "Oh! You mean Virgin Land?"

"You mean Virginia?"

"Is that not what I said?"

This is weird. Colonial Williamsburg is in Virginia. Maybe all these people who pretend they're historical figures know each other – like some sort of fetish club. Like Club De Sade in Metropolis. Or the Windgate – not that I would know. "Yeah…sort of. Not Virginia, exactly. Kansas. But they're both in America."

"And this is the new fashionable garment in your country? It is custom, then, to wear it tight on your chest and upper arms revealing your musculature?"

It seems kind of vain when you put it that way. "Not always."

"I see. So you have come from…?"

"Kansas. Smallville. My family has owned a large farm there with hundreds of acres of land for generations, but my father is in government now."

"A large estate with hundreds of acres of land? Government? A boy like you is _certainly_ not here to show me dresses, Lord Smallville."

I'm not sure I like the way she says _certainly_. " _A boy like me?_ Are you always this stuck up?"

She gets a sort of faraway look on her face, then stands.

"Now I remember, Lord Smallville of Kent."

"It's _Kent of Smallville_."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, Smallville. Lords are always called by the name of their estate. Your family must be new money."

"That was rude."

"Before I…fainted, I suppose, I was looking at dresses, such beautiful dresses, each the exact shade of green in my hazel eyes. But you convinced me to wear a different shade of green."

She looks at me, and I notice what gorgeous hazel eyes she has. I imagine what it would be like to have those eyes focused on me.

"They are gone," she says. "What did you do with them?"

"I didn't see any dresses. I swear."

"Oh please, Smallville. It was just me and one other person. A boy. You. I would remember those eyes like cornflowers mixed with grass anywhere." She smiles. "That was earlier. You were with your dad – the towheaded tailor. But then there was a lady, an old woman. Singing a folk song about…kisses."

She starts to sing. " _Kiss me…"_ She looks down at my lips. _"Out of the bearded barley…"_ She looks back up at my eyes. _"Nightly…beside the green, green grass…"_ She looks down at the tip of her finger which looks like it has dried blood on it. _"Swing, swing, swing the spinning step…"_ She looks down at my Timberlands _. "You'll wear those shoes and I will wear that dress…"_

She smiles again – and I think my heart stopped. "It was she who brought the green dresses that matched the green in my eyes exactly. She was spinning thread. She told me I could make a wish."

She stops speaking and turns away from me, toward the window. "But why can I not remember? It just happened."

"Maybe I can help you," I say, kneeling beside her. "Close your eyes."

She gives me a look, like maybe I'm trying to trick her, but she closes them. With her eyes closed…it's like the lights have gone out…and now it's nighttime.

"Okay," I say. "Now, try to picture it. You're looking at the pretty dresses, and there's an old woman there. What does she look like?"

"I could tell she was once beautiful. She had black eyes that glittered like onyx."

"She said you could have a wish, and then what?"

She places her hand over her eyes. "Give me a minute, Smallville."

"What's the next thing you remember?"

She breathes in deeply, then sighs. Finally, she says, "A dream. It must be – for I was kissing a prince, my prince. He was telling me how beautiful I was."

"Of course you have a boyfriend."

"No! I have no friends, certainly none who are boys. I have been nowhere, met no one." She shakes her head. "It was just a dream. Then I opened my eyes, and you were searching for a piece of apple in my mouth with your tongue. Are you hungry? We have food, you know. In the kitchen – the pantry is stocked. No need to use your tongue to lick the stone floor to find it."

She looks down a moment, examining something on her skirt. It looks like a spot of blood. And suddenly, her eyes open fully, wider and greener than before.

"Son of a biscuit eating whore!"

"What?" I back away. "You don't even know my mother! And she's a fine woman with good mid-western values so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your name calling to yourself."

"A kiss! You say I was sleeping?"

"Yeah."

"And did you think I was quite beautiful?"

I grimace.

"Well? Waiting here."

"Are you always this bossy?"

"Oh, never mind, Smallville. Of course you did. Hello? I am me."

"Modest, too."

She ignores me. "So you saw me – and I was _soooo_ beautiful – that you immediately fell in love with me."

Seriously? Is this chick for real? "Well, not—"

"You fell in love with me…and you leaned over and kissed me. True love's kiss. I woke immediately. Right?"

"Pretty much."

And suddenly, her eyes begin to water. "Dammit to hellfire and brimstone! I am such an idiot. Lady Lutessa was right. I am a stupid girl and never should have been trusted for even a minute on my own."

"What are you talking about?" I want to put my arm around her or something, but I get the feeling that wouldn't be a good idea. She looks like she might punch me again.

"The curse, stupid!"

"Now I'm stupid? You're stupid! You're even dumb enough to think so. And what curse?"

"The curse. _The_ curse. Everyone knows about Maleficent's curse. Dammit! The General is going to kill me!" The tears in her eyes look about ready to spill over. Seeing that I am still not with the program, she says, _"Before her sixteenth birthday, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle and die."_

"But you're not dead. Although I might knock you out again 'cause I kinda can't stand you right now."

"Please. You and what army, Smallville?" She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. "I might just have to take you down."

"I'd like to see you try."

She squints her eyes and sighs. "The fairy Merryweather changed it so I would merely sleep. The whole kingdom would sleep, to wake only when I was wakened by true love's kiss."

"Uh-huh." She's wackadoodle.

She rolls her eyes. "Do I need to spell it out for you, Smallville? The old lady was the witch Maleficent. She came with the dresses, gained my trust. She had probably been watching me all my life. She brought with her a spindle. She knew I would make a wish, and when I did…"

"You're saying she stabbed you with that spindle thing?"

"Exactly. It is the curse. I have made the curse come true."

And the tears that were threatening finally fall.

"Hey, calm down," I say. "It's going to be okay."

Now she stands and begins pacing. "I am calm! I am perfectly calm!" She screams at me. "They warned me so many times. It is practically the only subject I talked about with my parents. It was their worst fear, and it has come true."

I try to think of what my parents' worst fear is—me being discovered, maybe. Or having to go to a lab to be experimented on. With meteor rock. They'd die. Because I would.

But I say, "Exactly. It's over. You went to sleep, and you're awake now because of me and my… magical kiss." I add under my breath, "Zatanna are you here? This isn't funny."

" _Slut-tanna_? Do I look like a _Slut-tanna_ to you?"

The princess is staring at me like I'm speaking in tongues. "Anyway…I'm sure they'll just be okay with it. It's like this one time I was hit by a car at 60mph and fell off a bridge into a river. My dad came to get me and he saw the wreck. He was so happy the driver of the Porsche wasn't dead from hitting me that he just told him to drive slower…" I stop. She's still staring at me like I'm possessed. "I mean…you're their little princess, right?"

She's stopped crying, and now she nods. "Perhaps you are right."

"I know I am."

"What is the date? I need to know how long I have slept."

I check my watch's date feature. "It's June twenty-third."

"Oh, that is not so bad then. A little over a month. I missed my birthday party, which is a shame, and they will need to explain to the guests, but still…"

Her eyes fall on my watch. "What is that?"

"A watch."

She picks up my wrist, examines it, then holds it to her ear. "A clock? On your wrist? How strange." She pulls back from me, does a double take, and examines the watch closer.

"What is that?" She points to the numbers on the watch.

"The year."

"That…is…the…year?" She looks sort of sick. Her face is suddenly almost the same color green as in her hazel eyes.

"Did you hit your head—"

"That is the year? The year Smallville!"

"Yeah, I know. My year sucks, too."

She begins to shake her head back and forth and crumples back onto the floor, as she was when I first saw her. "It cannot be true. It cannot."

I kneel beside her. "What's the matter now? I thought you were fine."

She looks at me, then starts screaming. Again. "Fine!? Fine, Smallville!? I have been asleep nearly three hundred years!"

Outside on the stairs, I hear a commotion, people running, then yelling. Like her.

"Stop! Thief!"

Oliver appears at the door in a green hoodie and dark sunglasses and...holding the crowns.

"Clark, we gotta go!"


	7. Chapter 7

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

 **CLARK**

Things get a little crazy then. There's Oliver at the door hiding the crowns in his hoodie and then two guards with actual swords. When they come in, Oliver starts yelling, "I don't have them! Search me if you don't believe me—just don't behead me!" One of the swords swings around, and he jumps. "Hey watch the hair, medieval dude!"

Then a bunch more people show up. Most of them are holding fancy old green dresses.

Next is a redheaded woman, who I'm guessing is the one the Princess called "Lady Lutessa." The Princess runs to her, screaming with anguish. "Tess! I have done it! I have done it!"

"God you have a big mouth. Must you always be so loud? What on earth are you yelling about? Done what?" Lady Lutessa says.

"Ruined everything. The General is going to kill me."

Oliver has managed to edge away from the guards in the confusion when the dressmakers showed up. Now, he tugs my arm. "Come on, dude."

I start to go, glancing back at the Princess, who's still wailing away. As loud as she is she could probably speak with her mouth shut. Her voice just echoes in my head. Does she even have an inside voice?

"Wait!" the Princess screams, loud enough to make everyone in the room stop what they're doing and look at her. Everything is silent, and I realize that no one but the Princess and I know that they've been asleep for hundreds of years.

Finally, Lady Lutessa says, "Good god, what now?"

The Princess points at me. "He cannot leave."

"Why not?"

"Because he has kissed me!"

Every eye in the room turns on me. The guards notice Oliver again, but this time they grab both of us.

I gulp. I don't know what say. "Uh...my bad."

"Have you defiled the Princess?" one guard demands, getting close with the sword.

"No…I mean, I don't think so." Unless he can read my mind. "Can you read my mind?"

" _Can he read your mind?_ Are you an imbecile?" The Princess says to me. "And no." She turns to the guard. "I am not defiled in the least. He was just searching for a piece of apple in my mouth with his tongue because he is hungry. But he must stay. For a celebratory dinner."

"Who are you?" Lady Lutessa asks.

"I'm Clark Kent…from Smallville, Kansas…I guess I broke some spell. No need to thank me. If you'll just call off your guard dog, I'll get going."

The Princess lunges toward me. I take a step back because she's scary.

"By guard dog I meant this Pitbull right here. It was nice meeting you, Mad Dog, but I'll be leaving now."

"Very funny, but surely you jest. You cannot go. You have broken the spell. Do you know what that means?" When I don't answer, she says, "It means you are my true love."

"Wackadoodle!" Oliver whispers.

I ignore him. "True love? I don't even know your name. I can't be your true love when I don't even know your name. That's low."

"How did you know my name?" She looks surprised.

"What name?" I'm confused.

"What's low?" Oliver asks.

"Precisely." The Princess says.

"What the heck is going on? Precisely what? What's low?" Oliver throws his hands up in frustration.

"This, Oliver. This is low." I'm starting to get frustrated myself.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance." The Princess holds out her hand as if we should kiss it.

"Is she bat-shit crazy?" Oliver whispers to me. "Clark make sense. What's low?

I sigh. Loudly. " _Low is_ –"

"Lo…is." The Princess cuts me off, looking like she's trying to figure something out. Then she beams at me. "I like it. And the way you say it. All exasperated and put out. It's quite flattering to know I have that effect on you."

"Lo –" Lady Lutessa begins.

" _Is_ …Tess. _Lo…is_." The Princess interrupts.

"This is Lois?" Oliver is apparently as confused as I am.

"Well, that was easy enough. Very well. It is probably best to have a proper introduction." The Princess looks to the redhead and says, "Tess."

"Lo."

"Do not make me hurt you."

Lady Lutessa rolls her eyes at the Princess, and although she doesn't look happy about it, gestures toward me. "Clark Kent, of Kansas, you are presented to Her Royal Highness, Princess Louisa. But her highness prefers… _Lois_." She adds under her breath, "Today anyway."

Lois.

"It is customary to bow at this time," Lois says.

"Your name is Lois?"

"It is." She beams at me again.

" _Now._ " Lady Lutessa again adds under her breath.

"I didn't know…"

"And yet, that is what you called me just now to your towheaded friend and you kept calling my shortened name while I …"

"I know." I shake my head. "I mean, I didn't know your name. This is so weird, like…"

She nods. "I know. True love. It was meant to be."

"I was going to say a coincidence. Like a total fluke." I shrug. "Look, I might want to go out sometime, but as far as true love—"

"But you woke me! And I can only be awakened by true love's kiss. And besides, I am me. Hello? How could you _not_ love me?"

Easy.

Oliver looks at Lois, then at the hands of the guards who are holding him, and then back at Lois. "So, um, Your Royalness, do you think you could maybe let us go?"

"Yeah, it's—ah—getting late." It's actually only twelve thirty, but who knows if these people can even tell time. "Our tour group's waiting for us."

"Yeah, Maddie's going to be pissed," Oliver adds.

"Highness, this one is a thief!" the guard behind Oliver says. "And if this person was with him, he must be an accomplice."

"I'm no thief," I say, "and…neither is Oliver." Okay, that's a total lie.

"The crowns were in his hands!" says the guard.

"But they're not now. If he stole the crowns they would be in his hands." Please don't check his pockets. I'll put the crowns back later. "His hands are empty, and I'm the one who broke the curse and saved you all. So…you're welcome. If you could just show us the way out –"

"What curse?" Lady Lutessa says. "What is he talking about?"

Lois ignores her. "Yes. Guards, you must unhand this gentleman at once. He is an honored guest and a friend of my future husband. You must both stay for supper."

Future husband? Does she mean me? Is this chick for real? "Excuse me, but I'm not—"

" _Lo…is_ …" Lady Lutessa says. "You cannot mean to invite this…this…commoner to supper. It is the eve of your birthday."

Lois starts to yell again. "No, Tess. Do you not understand? I have touched a spindle! A spindle! We have all been asleep for a great while and this…" She gestures toward me. "This English dressmaker's apprentice with hair the shade of a raven's wing and eyes the color of cornflowers mixed with grass and lips soft as silk pillows has awakened me."

"One: this is not a romance novel. Who talks like that? And two: you have touched a spindle?" Lady Lutessa's jaw is hanging.

Lois nods.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, Tess!"

Lady Lutessa cradles her forehead in her hands. "You idiot girl! Dammit to hellfire and brimstone! I have left you alone for ten minutes, and you touched a spindle and slept for…for…"

"Three hundred years."

"Louisa Johanna!" Lady Lutessa looks like she's been stabbed. And wants to stab the Princess. "Once. Just once…I need to beat you senseless just once. Although that would require you having sense…" She closes her eyes and recovers. "And you have been awakened by a…a…"

"Really great guy?" I volunteer.

Lois smiles and nods. "He will stay for supper." She looks at me. "You will stay for supper?"

I nod numbly. I can handle dinner if that's what it takes for them to let us go—even though they'll probably serve squirrel or something. "That's fine. Just let me call the hotel and tell them where we are." I take out my cell phone.

"What is that?" Lois says.

"A phone." She keeps staring at it. In fact, everyone stops what they're doing, gathers around, and stares. "You can, um, talk to people on it."

Except I can't get a signal. Duh. There's no tower here. Suddenly, it dawns on me what Lois said: _I have been asleep nearly three hundred years!_ If that's true, this place is like a time warp. The Princess really did screw things up. I can't help but sigh. And all I'm thinking is, _Looo-is…_ _Do you always get into trouble like this?_ _And how did they go so long without eating or peeing?_

Everyone's still staring at the phone, which lights up and makes beeping noises. Think how jacked they'd get if it actually worked.

"We have to go to the hotel," I say. "They'll be waiting for us."

"But surely your friends must have known of your journey," Lois says.

"We sort of sneaked off."

"Then we must send a messenger," Lois says. "Simply tell me the name of the inn in which you are staying, and it shall be done."

Problem one: I have no idea where the hotel is. Problem two: There's a huge hexed hedge around the whole country. Problem three: I am not— _and I mean not_ —marrying this girl. Princess or not. She's bossy…she's stuck-up…she's rude. I can't stand her. That's a hard pass.

"Does this help?" Oliver pulls a postcard out of his pocket. It has a photo of our hotel on the front. This causes another spasm of activity as everyone has to gather around to look at the photo. Finally, Oliver says, "The address is on the back, I think."

Lois hands it to Lady Lutessa, who looks dangerously close to ripping Lois's arm off and beating her with it. She examines it a moment, then says, "That is two days' journey. Wonderful. It just keeps getting better."

It seemed pretty far but not two days.

"Nah," Oliver says. "It was about two hours on the bus."

The redhead looks puzzled. "Bus?"

"Yeah. It's sort of like a car only…you got the wheel here? Has that been invented yet?"

Lois straightens her shoulders and folds her arms across her very nice chest. Even Lady Lutessa seems to have recovered enough to glare at Oliver.

"I guess it has," Oliver says. "Well, a bus is sort of a big wheel thing with a motor that carries lots of people places and fast." He looks at them. "Okay, I can see you don't get the bus thing. Maybe I could, like, take your guards out and show it to them if, um, they'd let go of me and get their swords out of my face. I like my face. Most chicks dig it, too."

Lois nods. "Do as he says."

The guards look disappointed, but they let go of Oliver, and he gestures to them to follow him. "Hey, do you guys have a chain saw?" Oliver is saying as they leave.

When he is gone, Lois turns to me. "Well, then, we must find you some proper clothing. If we are to marry, you must meet The General." Then, in case I don't get it, she adds, "My father. The king. So we can arrange the wedding."

Lady Lutessa finally lunges at Lois. I'm pretty close to joining her.

Great. Girl fight.

Somebody save me.


	8. Chapter 8

**DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE. I OWN NOTHING.**

* * *

 **KISS ME**

 **oXo**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

 **LOIS**

Son of a biscuit eating whore!

Tess messed up my hair.

She can thank her lucky stars that she is my only friend or she would have hellfire and brimstone to pay. I finish throwing down with Tess – handily beating the red-headed rat because… _hello_ … _I am me_. Daughter of a general here. Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ was read to me as a bedtime story. I dispatch Lady Lutessa to lick to her wounds and to find Clark a room and some clothing. Then I go back to the task I began, I thought, this morning, but apparently almost three hundred years ago—choosing dresses for the ball. There is no reason not to have a ball. Yes, I am three hundred sixteen years old (give or take a year) rather than sixteen years old, but since I have neither starved to death, nor died of thirst while asleep, it seems as though my body has been somehow suspended in animation all these years – like some sort of super…girl. Besides, Clark would not have kissed me had I been a crone instead of some sort of wonder...woman. Oh, dear god no! That is so wrong! Forget I ever thought that. Let us just reset the timeline and erase that thought from continuity like it never existed.

Moving on. Pretending that never happened.

Therefore…tomorrow will still be my sixteenth birthday…and I am still entitled to my party…so I still need dresses. The bad news is that the most beautiful dresses were supplied by someone whom I now know was an evil witch bent upon destroying me because she was annoyed at not being invited to a previous party – I mean _who does that?_ I will say, The General and Mother were rather shortsighted in not simply inviting her—what would it have cost? An extra pheasant and perhaps some turnips? Nobody likes turnips. She could have had them all to herself.

Whatever. What is done is done.

I venture into the first, then the second room. I know I should go looking for Mother and The General, but I simply cannot face them yet. I do not want to tell them what I have done. The General will never forgive me. He will surely think I am the weakest link. And I will surely feel there is something cathartic about telling a general to go to the fires of hell.

It is in the third room that I see The General. He looks rather put out.

"Lo, I am so glad to have seen you."

Although, truthfully, he does not look glad in the least to see me.

"I have terrible news," he continues. "The ball must be canceled."

I decide to play dumb. "But why?" Although I suppose it really is not playing considering the stupid thing I have done. He has discovered my stupidity with the spindle, and he means to punish me. Severely. I prepare to brawl...and then turn tail and run and hide. I am excellent at running and hiding from The General.

But The General says something even more surprising.

"I do not know, my Little Lo. It seems there are no guests."

Act surprised. "No guests? Whatever do you mean?"

"It is the strangest thing. The lookouts saw the first ships off in the distance at nine o'clock. By ten thirty, some were on the verge of entering the harbor. But then they simply disappeared."

"Disappeared?" I feign ignorance and repeat what he has said to give me time to think.

The General nods. "I fear, My Little Lo, that there is something afoot here – that we might be on the verge of war, or worse, that I may have been victimized by black magic – the dark art of the witch Maleficent."

Maleficent. Oh, no. In an instant, I understand what happened to the ships. They did not turn around, nor were they bewitched, not really. They may have tried to enter our harbor. But when they did, it was not there. The kingdom was obscured from sight by a giant hedge, as Merryweather said in her idiotic spell. They thought they had gone to the wrong place. The guests, the visiting royalty, even the special prince who might have been my husband, they have been dust for centuries, and I am merely a three-hundred-sixteen-or-so-year-old princess with absolutely no prospects whatsoever.

That is just great. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

It will take a great deal of finesse and outright horse manure to explain this to The General.

"I am sorry, my Little Lo."

He is sorry. That is a first. Dammit. Now I feel guilty. Would it be possible simply to feign ignorance of the whole situation? Pretend I have no idea what happened to the ships, no comprehension of what caused—I am certain—numerous additional changes to the kingdom?

But I remember Clark's clothing and the strange flashing object he carried with him, Oliver's talk of buses. Certainly the world changed during our three-hundred-year hibernation, as surely as it changed during the three hundred years before that, and as soon as The General notices the changes, he will understand their cause. If he does not, Lady Lutessa will be certain to tell him. That red-headed rat.

"Daddy?" I touch his shoulder.

"Yes, my Little Lo?"

"I believe…" I take his arm, sweet as I can, and guide him toward a chair. "I believe you should sit down."

He does, and when he does, I begin to tell my story. "…I touched the spindle, and then at the next moment, a dressmaker's apprentice – a former commoner named Clark with hair the shade of a raven's wing and eyes the color of cornflowers mixed with grass and lips as soft as silk pillows from the English county of Kent in Canterbury whose family has had great fortune in politics and has been made a member of nobility called Lord Smallville and now owns a farmstead estate in the English colony of Virgin Land – was waking me up," I conclude.

The General is silent. With his mouth hanging open.

"Daddy?" Nothing. "General…are you…is everything quite all right?"

"You say…you touched…a spindle, Louisa Johanna! A spindle!"

"Totally not my fault."

"No fault of yours? It was every fault of yours!" He looks, suddenly, like God's revenge against murder. "Have we taught you nothing! How many times have we told you—cautioned you—about spindles! It was the first word you learned, the last thing you heard before bed at night, the one lesson of any importance: Do not touch spindles! And you forgot it— _how_?"

I remember a phrase that Clark had used earlier when the guards found out he kissed me. "Uh...my bad."

"Your… _bad?_ Do you not understand that we are ruined!"

"Ruined?" See? The weakest link. "Certainly it is inconvenient, but—"

"Inconvenient! Louisa Johanna, do you not understand! How could you be so stupid!"

I feel tears springing to my eyes yet again. "Daddy, your voice. Everyone will hear you."

"What does it matter? If, as you say, we have all slept these three hundred years, we are ruined, destroyed—you, I, the entire kingdom. We have no kingdom. We have no trade. We have no allies to defend us. Mark my words, it will not be long before everyone realizes that my daughter is the stupidest girl on earth."

"How dare you." I can hold back my tears no longer, and when I look at my father, I see something horrible. He is struggling to hold back his own. My father…the king…The General…the most powerful man in all Pandora…is weeping – and he blames me for causing this show of weakness.

"It was a mistake!"

"You cared for no one but yourself, Louisa, and we are all paying the price. It would have been better had you engaged in any other youthful indiscretion—running away, even eloping—rather than this one. This has affected everyone, and it is unforgivable."

My father's words strike like daggers. He would rather see me gone than have me do what I did. He hates me. Well…right now…the feeling is mutual.

"Go to hell, General."

He looks at the floor. He does not even admonish me for my blatant disrespect to his rule and authority. "Perhaps, Louisa, we are already in it."

Yes. Perhaps. I nod and start for the door. Then I remember something I must tell him, although at this point, I would much rather not. Still, if The General despises me, I have nothing to lose. I have already ruined everything, right?

"General?"

"What is it now, Louisa?"

"The boy, the one who woke me from my sleep…I have invited him to stay at the castle and to have supper with us."

Father stares at me. With his mouth hanging open. Again. "Supper? With the boy who possesses pillow soft lips?"

"Yes. It seemed the proper thing to do after he saved us all from me ruining the world."

He makes an attempt to straighten his shoulders but fails. "Yes." The word comes out as a sigh. "Yes, I suppose it is the least we can do after what you have done. Invite Lord Littleville to supper."

"Smallville."

"Same difference." And then, before I can say anything else, The General turns on his heel and leaves. I wait a minute to make sure he is gone before leaving the room myself.

I am passing through the guest chambers on the way to my own room when I hear a voice.

"Excuse me? Your Highness? Um, Lois?"

I stop. Clark! They must have placed him in this room.

I approach the door. "Smallville?"

Indeed, it is him. This boy I am supposed to marry. This noble farmer from Virgin Land who used to be nobody, but now is somebody. Somebody who saved me.

He is wearing more appropriate clothing – a royal blue tunic with a gold sash around his waist and a crimson cape cascading from his shoulders – in which he looks rather handsome, despite the unruly curl escaping his slicked back hair and hanging over his forehead. "Um, sorry to bother you, Lois."

"No bother." Although, in truth, I would much rather be alone with my grief. My face burns. Soon, everyone will know of my stupidity and humiliation – that I have ruined the world as we know it – and soon I will be the most ruined of all.

"Your dad seemed upset."

I nod, unable to speak. So he had heard.

"But what he said," Clark continues, "about the hundred years' sleep?"

"Three hundred."

"Right. My bad."

"No, _my bad!_ Three hundred! We have slept three hundred years, and we are ruined, and it is all my fault." I try not to cry again. Were I a few years (or a few hundred years) younger, I could throw myself on the floor in a fit of tantrum, but as it is, I simply stand there, gasping for breath.

Clark stands there, too, looking down. I wonder if he heard The General call me the stupidest girl on earth. Probably the whole castle did. Finally, he says, "Can I get you a Kleenex?" I have no idea what a Kleenex is, but if he has it that must mean it saves lives. He reaches into his pocket and procures a bit of paper, sort of a paper handkerchief. To think…this white paper has the power to save the world.

I take it and blow my nose into it.

I try not to sniff too loudly. However, I have been crying very hard. So finally, I have to give in and snort like one of the horses so that, in addition to being the stupidest girl in all Pandora—nay, the world—I also snort when I sob. Talk about an ugly cry.

To his credit, Clark pretends not to notice, and his kindness sends forth the torrent of tears I have been trying to avoid.

When I finish, he says, "My biological dad can be kind of a jerk, too. You should've seen what he did to my chest last summer."

"I am the jerk. It is all my fault! I am so stupid!"

"You're not stupid. You messed up. I mess up all the time."

Messed up? I move away from him, wondering if my face is blotchy, in addition to being stupid and snorting like a horse. But I catch a bit of my reflection in the mirror attached to the wall. No, Flora's gift has held true. I am still beautiful. Perfect, in every way save one.

He continues. "From what I'm getting, you had a curse placed upon you—that before your sixteenth birthday, you would prick your finger on a spindle. Right?"

I nod. "Right."

"My dad, he's a state senator, and he's always looking at the wording of things. So that's how it was phrased? 'Before her sixteenth birthday, the princess shall prick her finger on a spindle…' not 'the princess might prick her finger' or 'if she is not careful, she will'?"

I nod. "But I was supposed to take care. Mother and The General always said—"

He holds up his hand. "Meaning no disrespect to them, either. I guess they were trying to protect you, but I don't think you could have kept from getting pricked with the spindle if it was part of the curse. It had to happen."

"But…" I stop. I rather like the way this young man is thinking. In fact, he is quite smart for someone who is more beautiful than even me. Not just a pretty face it seems. "Do you really think so?"

"I do." There is conviction in his bluish-green eyes. "This witch put that curse on you, and that was that—you were going to touch it. Maybe she even enchanted you to make you touch the spindle. It was your destiny. Trust me. I know all about destiny."

"My destiny?"

"Yeah, destiny, like how it was Anakin Skywalker's destiny to be Darth Vader."

I have not the slightest idea what he is talking about. Something about a kid who walks in the sky and has a dark German father.

"But that does not change the fact that The General believes me to be a stupid fool and thinks it is all my fault that our country is ruined and probably the world, too." I remember what The General said earlier, about how he would rather I had run away and eloped. I gaze at Smallville. He is tall, and his eyes the color of cornflowers mixed with grass are quite intoxicating, and in that moment, I see my escape. "Do you think perhaps…?"

I cannot ask it.

But he says, "What is it, Lois?"

His eyes are kind as well. And I see my future in them.

"Smallville…do you think perhaps…you can take me with you?"

"What?" He backs away three steps, as if he has been pushed. When he recovers himself, his voice is a whisper, and he glances at the door. "I can't."

"Why not? If it is because I am a princess and you are lesser nobility, this matters not. I am an outcast now. The General despises me. They all…" I gesture toward the window, indicating the ground below, the land, the people. "They all shall hate me soon enough. Their crops are dead. Their food has rotted. They should be long dead and rotted themselves, but because of me, they are alive still, only the whole world has changed around them."

"But I'm only seventeen. I can't be responsible for a princess. I can barely get my homework done after doing my chores and with all my saves..."

"Why ever not? Seventeen is a grown man. Surely, you must be learning a trade—like blacksmithing or making shoes."

"Sort of. I go to school. I write for the school newspaper. I'm thinking of trying out for the football team. Extracurricular activities. That's what colleges look at now."

Now. Everything is different now. But I must change it. I was destined to prick my finger upon a spindle, and I did. But there was another part of the curse. I was to be wakened by true love's first kiss. That kiss was Clark's. Therefore, he must be my true love, even though he seems like he'd rather be killed by pieces of rock falling from the sky in a rain of fire. He does not seem to appreciate the great opportunity he has been given, marriage to one gifted by the fairies with beauty and grace and musical talent and intelligence. I must make him realize it. I must make him my true love, if I am going to fulfill my destiny. For _he_ is my destiny.

"Well," I say, "in any case, you must join us for supper."

"Okay," he says, looking skeptical and worried. "Supper's okay. Marriage—not so much. Sorry, Lo. That's a hard pass."

I smile and nod, but I know that I must make this red and blue clad hero who saved us all fall in love with me. Whether he wants to or not. And I will. I will not stop until I have landed him exclusively.

Just watch me.


End file.
